


Shrike and Thorn

by smug_albatross



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Sunless Sea
Genre: Aestival, Angst, Angst without a happy ending, F/F, Frostfound, Seeking Mr Eaten's Name (Fallen London), no betas we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 04:03:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19077106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smug_albatross/pseuds/smug_albatross
Summary: The Weary-Faced Captain and the Sharp-Eyed Seeker sit down over a bottle of Morelways, 1872.





	Shrike and Thorn

Once the thin-faced woman sitting across the table was the Soft-Hearted Merchant, zailing her ship up and down the Zee's eastern coasts, from the frigid waters of Boreal Reach to the boiling harbor of the Iron Republic. Before that, she had other titles - several of them, all unimpressive and forgotten. Now, she is the Weary-Faced Captain, rich and respected and alone, sitting at a small table in a basement, with a bottle of good wine and two empty glasses.

Across the table sits the blonde woman who used to be the Mouthy Orphan. She, too, has traded in her share of names over the years - from the Clever Mudlarker to the Zealous Detective to the Silver-tongued Socialite - and now, at last, the Sharp-Eyed Seeker.

The Weary-Faced Captain speaks first as the Seeker pours the wine. "You used to be able to summon a case of Greyfields 1868 First Sporing with a snap of your fingers," she comments, taking a sip. It's not that Morelways is _bad_ wine, quite the opposite, but the Seeker (back when she was still the Socialite, you see) was seen in the favorable company of the Masters and the Empress both, and frankly, the presence of Morelways is either an insult or a sign of  _very_ hard times. "What changed?"

The Seeker merely hums as she takes a sip from her own glass. Her hands are gloved in green. The Captain knows those gloves - they were bought on a hot summer evening when they were both young, when the Captain was a dockworker and the Seeker sold trinkets she found in the mud of the Stolen River. They had just uncovered a glim-smugglers cache and (being young) rushed to the Bazaar to buy one lovely thing for themselves. The Captain bought an Iron Tophat (it sits on the table now, gleaming dully in the candlelight), the Seeker bought a pair of Avid Gloves. The teeth clink against the wineglass.

"What changed?" the Seeker murmured, not meeting the Captain's eyes. "Better to ask - what didn't?"

The Captain does not look around at the dingy walls and moth-eaten rug. _Mr. Wines himself was at your wedding, my dear,_ she does not say, _how on Earth could you have been reduced to this?_

The Silver-Tongued Socialite who sponsored the Captain's first voyages to Port Carnelian and Polythreme would have welcomed her with jewels falling from her fingers and secrets on her lips, purring the intrigues of the court into the Captain's ear as she maneuvered them both to the nearest bedroom where often as not, her wife would be awaiting them both.

The Sharp-Eyed Seeker, on the other hand, has no wife and discarded her lover - her wealth - her status - her name -

 _Seeker, they call you,_ the Captain mused as she peered over the rim of her wineglass. _Seeker of what? Destitution?_

The silence stretches until the Captain, accustomed to long voyages but loud ships, breaks it. "You wanted to meet?" she asks - cautiously, hopefully. Hope has no place in the Neath, even less on the Underzee, but love is stupid and hopes on nonetheless.

(There is an island. The Captain has told no one. Yet.)

"I did." The Seeker sets down her wineglass with all the poise of a princess. "Brave Captain, have you ever been to the Avid Horizon?"

A chill runs down the Captain's spine. She sets her own glass down to hide the sudden tremor in her hands (the Chapel of Lights has a well that is not a well - she delivered the scar it gave her to the First Curator long ago but there are things that cannot be forgotten - and only a hair's breadth north is - )

(She remembers the Crimson Beast of Winter in her cargo hold and the booming voice he spoke with as the snow drowned them both. "I WILL TAKE ALL YOU CAN GIVE. I WILL TAKE EVERYTHING YOU HAVE. I WILL TAKE MORE.")

(Nightmares are common among zailors. Especially captains.)

"Once," she admits. Her voice is steady.

( _Mr. Sacks, take my best regards._ It's an old Londoner's trick. It only works once.)

"Really?" The old purr is back in the Seeker's voice. If the Captain closes her eyes -

( _Mr. Sacks, take my wealth._ She was not rich, then, but she was much poorer after the dreams.)

\- it's best not to close your eyes, in the Neath.

( _Mr. Sacks, take my warmth._ She awoke freezing. The ice in her heart has never melted.)

"What was it like?" The Seeker leans forward, a hungry gleam in her eyes.

She looks... starved. When did she last eat?

( _Mr. Sacks, take my teeth._ She woke to the taste of blood and found three holes in her gums.)

"Cold," the Captain asks. In a bid for lightness, her voice cracks.

The Seeker's eyes glimmer. The Captain does not meet them.

( _ ~~Mr. Sacks, take my crew.~~_ That is the captain's way, in the Underzee, but she was still called the Soft-Hearted Merchant then and she would not - will not - buy her life with theirs.)

"I am sorry." The Seeker's voice is laced with humor and sympathy in equal parts as she grasps the Captain's hand in her own. "I know how you hate the cold." Her face brightens, and the smile that charmed the Shuttered Palace reappears - beaming and genuine and lovely, all for the Captain's sake. "Do you know, I still have a fireplace here - let me stoke it back to life and we can finish this bottle in front of it." She clasps her hands together. "Oh, it'll be _just_ like old times - "

Right now, a fire sounds delightful. The Captain follows the Seeker upstairs, into a Townhouse lost and stripped and won back in a rigged game of poker, bottle in one hand and the glasses forgotten on the table.

In the wine-soaked firelight, hands begin to roam. Laughter mingles with kisses. The Captain's coat is discarded over the back of the sofa and much of the lacings on the Seeker's elegant emerald gown are undone.

The Seeker has tattoos now. "From New Newgate?" the Captain asks, tracing them with light fingers. The rumors say that the Seeker has been behind New Newgate's bars seven times now. The rumors say that once, she tried to set the city aflame.

(The Captain does not believe the rumors. Still, she wonders - why was her dear in New Newgate at all?)

The Seeker's eyes are golden in the firelight. "Most of them," she murmurs. Her hips shift, her lips graze the soft skin of the Captain's throat, and the conversation is over.

It begins again later when the Captain's shirt has joined her coat and the Seeker has been stripped down to her underskirts. The Captain's fingers run down the Seeker's spine and find the wet void of _gant_ and she sits up, displacing the Seeker from her place on the Captain's stomach.

"What have you been _doing_ to yourself?" she demands. There is not one, nor two, but _seven_ Weeping Scars carved into the Seeker's back. The last one, the largest, sits over the small of the Seeker's back like a brand.

The Captain should cut them out and throw them into the fire, but their knife is in her coat and the Seeker is still sitting on her legs. (Frustrating as ever, even in the face of such agony.) The Captain plants a kiss on each one and the Seeker moans.

"Perhaps I'll tell you," she says, "if you deliver on your _promises_ \- _oh - "_

The Captain delivers, slow and coaxing. Then twice more, just to be sure.

"Did you get better at this?" The Seeker's words are fuzzy as she admires the tattooed, muscled expanse of the Captain's back, silhouetted near-perfectly in the firelight as the Captain stokes the fire, still naked to the waist.

The Captain just laughs as she returns to the couch, pulling the Seeker into her lap. Her hand rests over the seventh Weeping Scar. "You have promises of your own to keep," she reminds her lover (and they are lovers once again, and the thought fills her with joy.)

"Of course." The Seeker's eyes seem to glow in the firelight as she reaches for the waist of the Captain's trousers. "But first, there are matters of courtesy to attend to."

If the Captain has gotten better at "this," then so has the Seeker. Her hands make quick work of what remains of the Captain's clothes and soon the Captain is arching helplessly into her hands, pleas dripping from her lips like honey. The Seeker kisses them away and tastes of wine and well-cooked meat and something the Captain is  _far_ too distracted to identify.

Matters of courtesy take their time, and all promises delivered on must be repaid - twofold, apparently. They have quite a long time to make up for, after all.

As they lie together in companionable bliss, the fire dying down to embers, enough bits and pieces align in the Captain's mind for her to say, "You did say you'd tell me what happened."

"I said _perhaps,"_ the Seeker corrects, lifting herself onto one elbow. There is a teasing smirk on her lips and the jewels at her throat gleam. They are cheap imitations of the rubies and sapphires that once graced her lovely form.

"I will bring you jewels again," the Captain promises, half-conceding and half-distracted. "Moon-pearls and glim and scintillack and Carnelian Sapphires, spider-silk and parabola linen, the finest red honey from Gaider's Morn, if you wanted it."

"What would I want with red honey?" The Seeker almost sounds offended. "I have all I care to dream about right here, thank you."

The Captain laughs, pressing a kiss to the back of the Seeker's hand.

(There is an island.)

"Come with me, my dear," she whispers. "Let me show you the Underzee. Let me show you Varchas, and Visage, and Mangrove College. Let us walk the streets of Port Carnelian -"

"I've already _been_ to Port Carnelian," the Seeker points out. She is pouting now. "I was governor there, remember, darling? For _five terms."_

The Captain shifts, rolling them both over so she's pressing the Seeker into the softness of the couch. The Seeker's hair is spread out like a crown, and her lips are still swollen from kissing.

"I would take you to the Salt Lions," the Captain breathes, her mouth a mere inch from the Seeker's. "I would take you to Irem, and the Sea of Lilies. I would climb the slopes of Mount Palmerston and walk the beaches of Nuncio with you." The kiss is soft, chaste. "I would show you an island of real sunlight, my dear, I would lay the Neath at your feet."

The Seeker shudders. "And the Avid Horizon?" she asks, gazing at the Captain through her lashes. "Would you take me there, and walk with me in the snow?"

The words stick in the Captain's throat. "If that's what you wanted," she whispered roughly, "then yes. I would take you here, and I would complain the _entire_ time about the cold - and the crew would too - "

The conversation is over. The Seeker pulls the Captain down for a second kiss - and a third kiss - and a fourth - and so on and so forth.

("Do you trust me?" asks the Seeker, after the fire dies.)

("Of course.")

(The Seeker has a favor to ask.)

* * *

The Captain is not sure what the Seeker wants with the Forgotten Quarter, but then, the Seeker has always been the academic between the two of them.

"You made it!" The Seeker beams from her small camp. It too has been stripped bare from what the Captain remembers of it. The Seeker herself seems to match - her emerald gown from the previous night is (rather sensibly) nowhere to be seen, and instead, she wears sensible black work clothes and an odd pair of red boots. Her top hat, like many in London, has fangs.

It looks quite good on her. The Captain does not have much time to appreciate it before the Seeker flings her arm around the Captain's neck and kisses her soundly.

"This way," she says, taking the Captain's hand.

They take no supplies - only a heavy-looking bag that the Seeker insists on carrying, despite her slight frame - so they cannot be going far. Still, it doesn't take much for the Captain to become hopelessly lost in the maze of ruins and rubble - put her on the deck of a ship and she could sail from Irem to the Iron Republic with her eyes closed, but on land, it was another matter entirely.

"Here we are," the Seeker said cheerfully. She hands the Captain the bag - and _blast_ is it heavy - and points to a little stone circle that might have been a well in a past life. "Go set this down over by the well, would you? I need to get something."

The Captain does because the Captain trusts the Seeker.

(One should never trust a Seeker. Especially on matters regarding wells.)

She never sees the blow coming. One moment, all is well, the next, blinding pain and darkness.

The Captain wakes to find herself wrapped in chains.

The Seeker's face falls. "You're awake," she murmurs. Distress is clear in her eyes - even here, they shine like amber - but she does not loosen the chains.

"What is this?" the Captain rasps.

(Perhaps she should have known. But how could she have?)

"I wish you weren't awake," the Seeker lamented. "I tried to go as fast as possible, you know. But these things must be done _properly_ \- he's just so Hungry, and I - " the Seeker freezes for a moment, licking her lips. "Well. I _understand."_

The Captain struggles against the chains, but she's bound fast - the Seeker has her legs wrapped in enough chain to weave a net, and her arms are pinned to her chest in much the same manner. "Let me go," she manages, half a command and half a plea and wholly unconvincing.

"Oh, my darling," and the Seeker looks so _crushed,_ "I truly wish I could." Her eyes gleam. "But he's just so _Hungry."_

"That doesn't - " The Captain begins to struggle again, but it's more for show than anything else. "You don't have to do this!"

 _"So Hungry,"_ the Seeker breathes. "One more... one more, and I may have it." She drags the Captain towards the lip of the well and sits her precariously on the edge.

"You promised," the Seeker whispers. "You promised to take me to the Avid Horizon."

"I will," the Captain swears, holding perfectly still as they lean precariously over the yawning void of the well. "I will take you everywhere - I will take you to Aestival - I will build you a kingdom - my dear, _please_ \- "

The Seeker's hands are gentle as they hold her by the shoulders. "The truth must be known." Her eyes are sorrowful. "The Hunger must be sated."

(There is an island made of sunlight.)

"No," the Broken-Hearted Captain begs. _"No."_

"But my brave captain," the Fanatical Seeker whispers as the chains slip through her fingers, _"yes."_

The Captain falls.

A candle appears.

(Her crew will never see the sunlight island again.)


End file.
